Something yesterday made me think of my grandparents.  They’re both on the other side now and I’m sure they’re watching me and guarding me and loving me as much as ever.

My grandparents were among the generation that still looked like grandparents.  They didn’t feel the need to look younger than they were.  My grandmother always wore dresses (down to her knees, of course,) never pants.  She wore glasses and curled her short gray hair in pin curls.  She was plump (like any respectable grandmother back in those days.)  She had rosy cheeks.

My grandfather wore baggy trousers, never ever jeans.  He often wore plaid shirts.  On holidays he wore sweater vests.  He had glasses and he was balding and he smoked a pipe.  He was often sitting reading the paper, or Newsweek, or the Bible, which he would read from cover to cover, bless his heart, plowing through even Leviticus, Numbers, and Deuteronomy.

Grandpop – Harry Jamison Greb, with my father.

In his later years, Grandpop was cold even in the summer.  He’d even wear long johns under his pants.  Meanwhile, my grandmother suffered from the heat.  In the hottest and most humid days of summer, she’d walk around in her slip and she’d have the air conditioner on.  I remember kissing many a sweaty cheek.  I can still picture beads of perspiration above her mouth.  She always smelled of powder.

My grandmother taught me how to make jam.  I stood with her in the small steamy kitchen while she loaded the sugar into the strawberries cooking on the stove. (I couldn’t believe how much sugar!)  She loved her sweets.  I would watch, astounded, while she put teaspoon after teaspoon after teaspoon of sugar into her tea.  And she always had a pretty dish with candy in it on the coffee table – usually the jellied, sugar-ccoated kind – like spearmint leaves or orange jellies.  It was for us, of course, but I’m sure she enjoyed her share when we weren’t there.  

Grandmom always gave me something to take home every single time I visited.  It could be a plant, or some photographs, or something in the house that caught my eye.   Among my most cherished possessions are old photographs of ancestors which I’d found in a big paper bag, and her diamond ring and wedding ring, which she left me in her will.  (Diamond is my birthstone.)

They lived on Grandpop’s social security check.  Grandmom, like most women of her generation, never worked outside the home.  She cooked, cleaned, did laundry, and raised her children, but never knew the pleasure of a paycheck.  They had three children and thirteen grandchildren.  Every birthday, we’d get a card from them with five dollars in it.  It may seem like a minute amount, but for people with so little income, it was very sweet.

My grandmother, Doris Christiana Lunger Greb,

with my father.

 One of the things I loved about Grandpop was how he would often ask our opinions about things like world events or philosophical issues.  I felt respected when he would ask what we thought.  Also, I loved that he loved to garden and I loved that he would call us sometimes and say, “Go outside right now.  There’s a gorgeous sunset.”

Whenever any of my siblings or I would go visit, Grandpop would always insist on driving us home afterwards, even though we lived only a quarter mile away.  And we were young adults at the time!  I know he was worried about our safety because it was a busy road, etc., but I always thought it was funny because of course we’d all heard the stories of how far they had to walk to school when they were young.  

One of the best things about grandparents is: they have time.  They have time to talk.  They have time to play games.  They adore spending time with their grandchildren. 

I spent hours playing games with my grandparents.  And I never felt like I was bothering them.  I always felt appreciated, loved, treasured.

Grandparents are such a blessing.  And mine particularly so.

I love you, Grandmom and Grandpop.  Thank you for everything!  God bless you a million times.